


Purple Kisses

by yours_eternally



Series: AUgust 2020 Prompts [15]
Category: Motionless in White (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professional Rivals, Blood, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Head Injury, Hockey, Hockey Injuries, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25914202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: ‘Hey,’ Chris says, as he hugs him a little tighter, ‘hey, c’mon. You’re not meant to get stressed, right? That’s what the doctor said.’ Ricky shallows.‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘sorry, man. I’m a mess.’‘It’s cool,’ Chris says and it is. And then Ricky’s turning in his arms, and his own arms are going around Chris’ neck and his tipping up onto his toes to kiss him on his lips. Chris is too shocked to register much more than the warm press of his mouth. Ricky pulls back, eyes wide as though he can’t believe what he’d just done.After being injured in a big game, Chris can’t blame Ricky for hating him but perhaps Ricky’s feelings are more complicated than either of them realise.
Relationships: Chris "Motionless" Cerulli/Ricky "Horror" Olson
Series: AUgust 2020 Prompts [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859290
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16
Collections: AUgust 2020





	Purple Kisses

Chris turns sharply, skates digging into the ice but it’s too late. Olson’s already down. _Fuckin’ hopeless_. He’s on his knees, blood on the ice. Someone had hit him then, ripped his shirt, bloodied his nose. Chris can feel his stomach curdle. He’s not sure if he’s angrier at Ricky or the person who’d hurt him. The final buzzer sounds and Chris throws his stick down letting it clatter. He stalks over but Olson’s already on his feet and then he’s suddenly not and the medics are running. 

Chris jolts awake. There’s sunlight streaked across his bed and he can smell coffee. Soft footsteps pad past his door to the bathroom. For a moment he thinks of the morning ahead, sitting in the apartment watching TV and shooting the shit with Ricky and he’s happy. But then he shifts onto his side and pain spikes across his ribs and he remembers. He’d beaten a man unconscious and got suspended. Ricky’s on bedrest with a concussion. And he hates him. Perhaps even more than when Chris had got the A — if that’s possible. 

Chris groans softly pulling his pillow over his face, not wanting to move, but then he hears the footsteps return from the bathroom. He staggers up, somehow making it to the door as Ricky is shuffling past. He’s in his sweats and team shirt, though he’s not allowed at practice for another week at least. He looks tired and there’s a yellowish bruise on his temple as well as a scab on the bridge of his nose. All Chris wants to do is draw him into his arms and hug him, before gently pulling him back to the bed behind him. But his posture is stiff and his jaw is set. 

‘Rick, c’mon,’ he says, when Ricky’s eyes skate over him. 

‘C’mon what?’ he grunts, stopping. ‘My head hurts, Chris, what the fuck do you want me to say?’ 

‘I should have protected you, I’m sorry,’ Chris tells him, eyes trained somewhere at his mid-chest. Ricky huffs out a breath and starts walking again, shaking his head. He mutters something like _unbelievable_.

‘You know what?’ Chris barks following his put into the hall, ‘—fuck you, Rick! I’m exhausted carrying your weight on this team.’ 

‘ _You_ carry _my_ weight?’ Ricky turns back, seething. ‘You can’t fucking play hockey, Chris! You got me hit! You lost me my fucking A!’ And Ricky shoves him and, like the besotted disaster he is, Chris just absorbs the impact. Ricky pushes against his chest once more, growling with frustration and pushing himself away, pivoting on his heel back towards his own room. 

‘You lost that A all yourself!’ Chris shouts after him and is pleased when Ricky stops, back ramrod straight, both hands clenched into fists. Chris smirks waiting for it. Waiting for Ricky to start screaming. Screaming until he’s flushed and his eyes are burning, and until Chris can’t help wondering if he’s that much of a firecracker in bed. But then Chris hears a muffled noise and realises Ricky's shoulders are shaking. 

Chris pads over to him and stops at Ricky’s back. His dark hair is stuck up here and there where he had bothered to brush it yet. Chris puts his hand on Ricky’s shoulder and Ricky hiccups. 

‘Get off,’ he mumbles and Chris let's go reluctantly. Chris doesn’t speak and after a moment Ricky sniffs wetly and drops his hands from his face. 

‘I did,’ he says, voice rough, ‘I lost it myself.’ His hands fly up to his mouth again to muffle the sob and Chris moves closer to him again and this time Ricky lets him put an arm around him. Chris puts his other arm around him as well, hugging him against his chest. 

‘Hey,’ Chris says, as he hugs him a little tighter, ‘hey, c’mon. You’re not meant to get stressed, right? That’s what the doctor said.’ Ricky shallows. 

‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘sorry, man. I’m a mess.’ 

‘It’s cool,’ Chris says and it is. And then Ricky’s turning in his arms, and his own arms are going around Chris’ neck and his tipping up onto his toes to kiss him on his lips. Chris is too shocked to register much more than the warm press of his mouth. Ricky pulls back, eyes wide as though he can’t believe what he’d just done.

‘Sorry, I… just wanted to do that,’ he says and Chris nods, dumbfounded. He can’t believe it could be that easy; that Ricky could simply want him back. ‘Sorry,’ Ricky says again, but Chris doesn’t let him move any further back. 

‘Can you… do that again?’ he says and Ricky stills, hands on Chris’ chest. 

‘It’s okay?’ He says, eyes flicking over Chris’ face. 

‘Yeah,’ he says, reaches to smooth his hand through Ricky’s hair. Ricky’s just sort of staring at him but then he pushes up on his toes again and Chris’ hands fit around his waist and they kiss. Chris somehow walks Ricky back into the wall. He slips his hands from his waist to pull at his thighs so he’ll wrap them around him. Ricky lets him lift him up, gasping as Chris presses him back against the wall. Ricky’s feverish now, kissing him everywhere he can reach, hands pulling at his t-shirt and hair trying to drag him impossibly closer. 

Ricky moans into his mouth as Chris kisses him. Chris feels lightheaded; Ricky’s wrapped around him, hips flexing against his stomach. Ricky pushes on his shoulders squirming and Chris leans back a little but doesn’t put him down. 

‘Can we—’ he pants, ‘I want to… on a bed, y’know. _With you_ —’ he adds blinking glossy eyes at Chris. Chris grins, pecking his cheek and letting Ricky down to lead him into his bedroom. Chris pauses in the centre of the room, there’s a faded jersey pinned above the bed and it smells strongly of cigarettes, despite the fact the landlord had told them not to smoke inside. 

‘Take this off,’ Ricky instructs, pulling at the hem of Chris’ shirt. Chris smirks, liking Ricky’s bossiness. He’s lost count of the times they’d seen each naked, in showers or in the changing rooms after games. But he hadn’t appreciated quite how different it would feel to have Ricky’s warm hands helping him to lift his shirt over his head and then touching his chest and stomach and shoulders and back. He lifts his hand to brush his fingers under Ricky’s chin so he’ll lift it to kiss again. 

‘This off as well,’ Ricky says against his lips, fingers curling under the waistband of his sweats this time. So Chris does. He pushes his sweats and his underwear to the floor and steps out of them. As he straightens, he can see Ricky’s eyes drop to his cock that’s hanging hard and heavy between his thighs. It feels real all of a sudden, not a lazy Sunday daydream.

‘Can I touch your dick?’ Ricky asks before Chris can speak. 

‘S-sure,’ he stammers, surprised to be asked so explicitly. Ricky reaches for him hand fitting into place and it’s perfect. Chris moans low in his throat as Ricky starts to explore him, fingertips stroking and pressing. Ricky leans up to kiss him again as he palms his balls and Chris grips his shoulder hard, struggling to keep himself upright. 

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ Chris grunts, cupping both hands in Ricky’s hair pushing into his hand. Ricky takes the hint and starts stroking him properly, thumb brushing the tip. Chris feels his gut twist and has to grab Ricky’s wrist to stop him. Ricky lets him go and steps back. He nods towards the bed and Chris gets on it, laying on his back to watch as Ricky takes his clothes off. He’s hard too and obviously self-conscious about it, so Chris tries not to stare but he is very, very beautiful. 

Ricky climbs onto him tentatively, hands on Chris’ stomach as he settles himself on Chris’ thighs. His cock brushes Chris’ and all Chris can hear is blood roaring in his ears like Ricky had hit him around the head. Ricky makes a soft noise, eyelashes flickering. He doesn’t seem to know what he wants to do now so Chris licks the palm of his hand and fits it around both their cocks making Ricky gasp and arch. Chris takes a breath, tingling everywhere with sensation. 

‘You can move,’ Chris grits out, ‘y’know like… how you do…’ Chris shuts up because Ricky’s started to roll his hips and every thought the isn’t _fuck yes_ has dissolved into randomly firing neurons. Ricky moans, nails digging into Chris’ chest. His cock is sliding, spit-slick, against Chris’. Chris jerks them, hips twitching up under Ricky’s weight. 

Ricky bends to kiss him, hips still fucking into Chris’ hand. His skin is burning and his lips are just as hot, branding Chris everywhere he’s pressing them. He groans, hips rocking, as his back arches and he tips his head back. His dark hair is stuck to his forehead and the inside of his mouth is deepest pink where it’s hanging open as he moans. 

He freezes, going completely rigid and it takes a moment for Chris to work out what’s happening but then he feels Ricky come over his hand and on his stomach and the feeling is enough to drag him over the edge. His gut snaps taut as he comes, hand still jerking weakly, as he gasps. Ricky drops to lie on him, head tucked into his neck, apparently not concerned about the come sticking their skin together. 

Chris huffs out a deep breath, clean hand coming up to smooth his hair. Ricky gives a contented sigh, nuzzling, but then says; ‘don’t think this means I’ll go easy on in practice, Cerulli.’

**Author's Note:**

> Woke up a little emotionally fragile this morning so editing this fic has laid me low for the day. HOWEVER, I do have a little soft-spot for this one as I've had this idea for ages and didn't have any way to use it and now it's FREE 🙌
> 
> The next two are pretty wacky.. I think probably the wackiest of the lot.. so again, prepare yourselves 😅
> 
> [xyours-eternallyx](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xyours-eternallyx) on tumblr 🙌


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